


Very Clean & Highly Decorated

by smarshtastic



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Roombas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-05 03:45:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11569629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smarshtastic/pseuds/smarshtastic
Summary: The bot nudges against Jesse’s boot again. Jesse takes another step to the side. The bot follows. Jesse steps in the other direction. The bot follows. Jesse takes a couple quick steps across the room and the botstillfollows.---Jesse makes some new friends.





	Very Clean & Highly Decorated

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fabrega](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabrega/gifts).



> This started as a joke on twitter and then spiraled out of control. 
> 
> Many thanks to [fabrega](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabrega/) for encouraging the fluff and also suggesting that the bots sound like the [mice droids from _Star Wars_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cLqNmMH4hsg). 
> 
> In other news, I have at least four fics lined up for [Blackwatch Week](https://blackwatchweek.tumblr.com/), which starts this Sunday!! Check it out, peruse the tag, contribute some fanworks! It's gonna be a good time!!
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](http://wictorwictor.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/smarshtastic)!
> 
> UPDATE: Meet [Dwayne "the Bot" Johnson](https://twitter.com/smarshtastic/status/892913126869544960), the newest addition to the smarshtastic family

Jesse knows when he's being followed. The dumb cowboy shtick is mostly to keep other people on their toes; if they discount him right off the bat, Jesse’s liable to be able to pull one over on them when they least expect it. Still, there's no use showing his hand if he can help it. He keeps whistling as he walks down the hall, keeping his eyes forward, shoulders relaxed, ears alert. He switches direction suddenly and slips into a side hallway. He quickens his pace, takes another turn, then another before he steps into a room and presses his back against the wall just inside the door. He's about to peer out of the door when something bumps into his boot. Jesse blinks and looks down.

A small, round cleaning bot whirrs at his feet. Jesse blinks.

“Excuse me,” he says. The bot whirrs louder, a small sweeping arm extending and swiping at the the toe of his boot. Jesse shifts to the side, out of the bot’s way, but the bot follows his boot, still trying to sweep at Jesse’s toes. He crouches down and picks up the bot. It trills in a startled alarm, one of the lights on the top of the bot going red. Jesse hurriedly sets it down. “Sorry - sorry. I was just trying to get out of your way.”

The bot nudges against Jesse’s boot again. Jesse takes another step to the side. The bot follows. Jesse steps in the other direction. The bot follows. Jesse takes a couple quick steps across the room and the bot _still_ follows.

“Heh,” Jesse says. “Would you look at that?”

Jesse walks back out of the room and into the hallway, retracing his steps back to the main hallway of the Swiss headquarters. When he checks behind him, the little cleaning bot is still following him, whirring happily in his wake. Jesse goes back to whistling.

Normally, the Blackwatch strike team has no business being in the main part of the Overwatch headquarters. They're usually relegated to an annex, or one of the less important bases, with the shiny, sparkling hallways of Overwatch proper reserved for dignitaries and various other important visitors coming to meet the world’s finest peacekeepers. It just so happens that the Blackwatch strike team gets to pretend they're among those venerated numbers today.

Jesse checks behind him; sure enough, the bot is still at his heels.

Jesse meets up with the rest of the strike team. They're fresh off a mission - no time to clean up - but their presence has been _required_ at HQ, and Blackwatch is in no position to argue with Strike Commander Morrison.

“Did you get lost, Jesse?” Wake asks when Jesse finally joins up with them.

“Not exactly.”

Behind him, Edwards swears and aims a kick at Jesse’s new friend. It trills in distress.

“Hey!” Jesse says, leaning down quickly and scooping up the cleaning bot. He glares at Edwards, who blinks at him blandly.

“It's just a cleaning bot, Jesse,” Edwards says.

“Doesn't mean you get to kick it around,” Jesse shoots back.

“It _is_ Overwatch property,” Valdez points out.

“Yeah, Morrison’s gonna pull that from your paycheck,” Shiga says. Edwards rolls his eyes.

“Alright, alright. Jeeze.”

“Let’s get moving. We’re going to be late,” Valdez says.

Jesse sets the cleaning bot back down and the strike team moves out, making their way to the auditorium where the Overwatch team is on display for the entirety of the United Nations delegation. Representatives from every country are present - Strike Commander Morrison stressed, repeatedly, that the future of Overwatch depends on their ability to impress the UN delegates. Jesse was of the opinion that Blackwatch wasn't exactly something the delegates would want to know too much about, but there was no way he was going to make Gabe look bad in front of all those people. Plus, he knows it pains Morrison to put Blackwatch on the same level as his precious agents, so Jesse is happy to play nice for a day if it annoys the Strike Commander.

Jesse glances behind them as they go: the cleaning bot is still following them.

Gabe meets the strike team at the back doors to the auditorium stage. He's dressed in his official uniform, spangled with medals, looking impeccably pressed and polished. Jesse’s gaze lingers longer than he should, his eyes bright. He catches Gabe’s eye; the corner of Gabe’s mouth twitches up.

“You're late,” Gabe says.

“We hit turbulence over Gibraltar,” Wake says by way of explanation.

“Well, they can't fault us for doing our job, I hope,” Gabe says. He shakes his head a little. “Let’s get up there.”

On cue, Gabe leads the strike team out onto the auditorium stage. He takes his place at a podium while the strike team assembles in a line behind him, standing at attention. Jesse clasps his hands tightly behind his back and tries to get a look at the audience. The lights are too bright to see much of anything, but it looks like a full house.

Gabe is speaking, thanking the UN for their time and stewardship, and launching into a sanitized version of what his team is all about - he doesn't refer to them as Blackwatch, he doesn't explain in detail their covert agenda. Instead, they're a field team, an on-the-ground assembly of experts, highly-trained people like former Marines and intelligence analysts who work behind the scenes to make the world a safer place. When Gabe puts it like that, it sounds almost believable. Jesse wonders if any of the UN delegates are actually buying it.

Something nudges against his boot. Jesse blinks, his eyes flick down without moving his head. The cleaning bot has managed - somehow - to follow him onto the stage, and it has brought a friend with it. The two bots are circling him, nudging up against his boots. Jesse flicks his eyes up again. He hopes that nobody notices.

One of the bots lets out an insistent trill, waving its little sweeping arm as it attempts to go into overdrive. Jesse shifts on the spot, trying to nudge it gently away. It trills again.

Crap.

Jesse sneaks a glance at Valdez on his left, but she's at full attention - the Marine training serving her well, damn her. At Jesse’s right, Shiga is trying (and mostly failing) to keep a straight face. His shoulders are shaking. The bot trills again and this time its friend answers. It becomes a little back and forth chorus of robotic sounds. Jesse stoops quickly and scoops one of them up. The beeping goes shrill, almost panicked.

Jesse is suddenly aware of all of the eyes in the auditorium. He can't see them - but he can _feel_ them, following his every movement. Mortified and still clutching the protesting bot to his chest, Jesse takes a little step back. His eyes slide to Gabe, who has half-turned from the podium to look at him too.

“Sorry,” Jesse manages to say. His face feels hot - of course, it probably doesn't compare to whatever spectacular shade of red Strike Commander Morrison’s face is right now. He can perfectly picture the vein that's probably throbbing in his temple. The bot trills in his arms again. Jesse hugs it closer, even though that doesn't do anything to silence it. He finds himself speaking without even really realizing it, “We sorta just got back and didn't get a lot of time to clean up.”

Gabe turns back to the audience.

“Agent McCree and the rest of the strike team were in fact recently deployed to the Congo, where they stopped a weapons shipment from falling into the hands of a terrorist organization,” Gabe says calmly. “As you can see, my team doesn't mind getting their hands dirty.”

Gabe turns back to look at Jesse, his face going softer, a little gentle. “You can put the bot down, McCree. It just wants to do its job.”

A little laugh ripples through the audience. Jesse bends down and sets the bot back near his feet. It trills happily as it rejoins its friend, the two of them circling around Jesse in tandem.

Jesse spends the rest of Gabe’s talk red-faced and extremely self-conscious. The polite applause at the end of Gabe’s speech is a welcome relief. He files off the stage with the rest of the strike team, careful not to trip over the cleaning bots who are still, for some reason, following him.

“Jeeze, Jesse, I didn't think you were _that_ dirty,” Shiga says through his laughter once they're safely out of earshot of the auditorium.

“Did you program them to follow you around?” Prithi asks. Wake brightens.

“You did, didn’t you!”

“No!” Jesse says, exasperated. The bots beep gently to each other.

“Morrison is going to be pissed,” Valdez says, shaking her head. Jesse tugs at his collar.

“I didn't do this on purpose,” he says.

“Your boots just need a proper polish,” Gabe says coming up behind them. The strike team straightens, but Gabe looks amused.

“I really don't know why this is happening -” Jesse says. Gabe waves a hand dismissively.

“My guess is that the cleaning staff were told by a certain strike commander to make sure the place was spotless,” Gabe says. “And they took the brief a little too literally when they programmed their bots.”

“Why aren't they following Shiga around? Or Edwards?” Jesse asks.

“Well, Edwards did kick one,” Wake points out. Edwards gives her a sharp look.

“And nobody's quite as cuddly as you are, Jesse,” Shiga says, still grinning.

“Morrison’s gonna kill me,” Jesse groans.

“We’ll see about that,” Gabe says. There's a sparkle in his eyes that makes Jesse’s heart beat faster in a completely different way. “It was a nice bit of levity to break up what I'm sure was a very boring afternoon for all those delegates.”

Jesse isn't so sure, but Gabe is already sending them on their way.

“Go get properly cleaned up,” Gabe says. “We actually have to rub elbows at the reception so we have to look presentable.”

Jesse sets off with the strike team, the two cleaning bots following in his wake. The bots follow him all the way to the showers, and are still there even when Jesse is properly suited in his dress uniform. He sighs exasperatedly at them.

“I'm clean now, aren't I?” he says, spreading his arms to indicate his pressed uniform. The bots beep conversationally to each other and circle Jesse again. If he didn't know any better, he'd say they were looking at him expectantly. He sighs again. “Alright. Well, if you're gonna insist on following me around -”

Jesse plucks two medals off his uniform and stoops down to place them on top of each bot.

“There. Bravery and heroism, or something,” Jesse says. “At least you look the part now. Let’s go - we're gonna be late again.”

The reception is intimidatingly crowded, the soft conversation and clink of glassware filling the enormous hall. Jesse hesitates. He hates these things; it dredges up that old feeling of not quite belonging, feeling distinctly out of place.

“Hey,” a low familiar voice says into his ear, a warm, steady hand pressing against the small of his back. “You clean up well.”

Jesse half-turns to face Gabe. “My new friends don't exactly agree,” he says, gesturing down at the two bots. Gabe blinks at them.

“Still?” he asks. He blinks again. “Are those your medals from the Tasmania mission?”

“Well, yeah,” Jesse huffs. “If I have to dress up, everyone does.”

Gabe laughs, a full-bodied, melodic sound. When he looks at Jesse again, his eyes are bright.

“I love you,” Gabe says. Jesse finds that he's smiling in spite of himself. “Let’s find you a drink.”

A few minutes later, Jesse finds himself with a glass of champagne in hand and talking to a delegation from South Asia while his bot friends wind circles around his feet. The delegates are positively delighted by Jesse and the bots and ask him question after question while Gabe stands to the side, sipping champagne and trying to hide his smile.

At a certain point (and possibly after a couple of glasses of champagne), Jesse becomes less self conscious of being followed around by the cleaning bots. Nearly every delegate he talks to is charmed by Jesse’s drawl and his highly decorated bot companions. Jesse even starts enjoying himself.

By the end of the reception, Jesse and his cleaning bots are the big hit of the day. He spots Strike Commander Morrison shaking hands with one of the South Asian delegates while the UN Secretary General smiles benevolently. Jesse hopes that Morrison’s good mood will last at least until the inevitable disciplinary meeting he knows he'll be having tomorrow.

But Jesse isn't thinking about that when he accompanies Gabe to his quarters at the end of the night. He's more interested in kissing Gabe, tasting champagne on his tongue, his fingers stumbling over the buttons of Gabe’s dress uniform.

“Mm - you look so - mm, mm - _good_ ,” Jesse  murmurs between kisses. Gabe laughs breathlessly into Jesse’s mouth.

“I thought you hated this thing,” Gabe says, plucking at Jesse’s collar.

“I do,” Jesse says, nodding emphatically. “But you look _good_ dressed up, Gabe.”

Gabe laughs as Jesse crushes his mouth to Gabe’s again. They stumble backwards, trying not to lose contact as they strip each other out of their uniforms, tossing them aside careless to where they fall. Gabe runs his hands up Jesse’s bare chest.

A shrill beep from under one of their jackets makes them both pause.

“Still?” Jesse says, exasperated. Gabe sits down on the edge of the bed and laughs.

“They like you,” he says. Jesse stoops and picks up his jacket, finding both bots underneath it.

“I can't fathom why,” Jesse says, hands on his hips.

“Oh, I can think of a few reasons,” Gabe says. Jesse waves his jacket at the bots. “Are they going to watch us all night?”

“God - no,” Jesse says. “Shoo - shoo. Go on now. Ain't you tired from following me around all day? Go on and sleep or something.”

The bots make a little circle around Jesse before they retreat into a corner under Gabe’s desk. Jesse blinks.

“Well.”

“You said you wanted a pet,” Gabe says as Jesse comes back to the bed.

“Yeah, but I meant a cat or something,” Jesse says. Gabe tilts his head back to smile up at Jesse.

“Even bots can't resist your good looks,” Gabe says. Jesse rolls his eyes.

“Hush up now,” he says.

“Maybe if you kiss me again?”

Jesse makes sure the door to Gabe’s bedroom is firmly shut before he does.

=-=-=

Sure enough, the next morning, Jesse is called to report in to Strike Commander Morrison’s office. He had almost managed to forget about the mortification he felt in front of all those members of the United Nations - at least until the bots tried to follow him to Morrison’s office. Gabe intercepts them, much to the bots’ displeasure.

“Go,” Gabe says over the indignant beeping. “I'll take care of this.”

Jesse knocks on Commander Morrison’s door, already imagining what punishment the strike commander has dreamed up for him this time.

“Come in.”

Jesse lets himself into the office to find Morrison sitting at his desk, fingers massaging his temple. He looks pinched, pale - is he hungover? He glances up when Jesse pokes his head in.

“McCree. Sit.”

Jesse does so - it's a good sign; he's probably not in _too_ much trouble if Morrison is telling him to sit, rather than make him stand at attention. Maybe it _is_ the hangover. Still, he sits up straight, with his hands in his lap as he tries very hard to focus on not fidgeting.

“Those bots,” Morrison begins. Jesse holds his breath. Morrison sighs. “You're a charming motherfucker, McCree. You're lucky for that.”

“Sir?”

“The UN liked your little display last night,” Morrison says. He takes a breath and when he speaks again, he looks pained. “It _humanizes_ us.”

“Oh,” Jesse blinks. Then quickly: “I didn't do it on purpose.”

“Trust me, I know. You got lucky this time.”

“I think the bots were just programmed to -”

Morrison raises a hand. “I don't want to hear it. Try not to embarrass us again.”

“Yes sir,” Jesse says. He waits for more, but Morrison waves a hand at him.

“Dismissed.”

Jesse starts to get up. “You know, Doc Z has some fizzy tabs that really help with hangovers -”

“I said _dismissed_ , McCree.”

“Yes sir.”

Jesse scrambles out and heads back to Gabe’s room, only to find a note on a tablet from Gabe:

_Had to make a call from the office. Be back soon. Wait for me for lunch?_

__\--G_ _

Jesse sets the tablet back down and kicks off his boots again. He goes to the desk to check on the bots when he realizes they haven't come darting out to clean him obsessively. On his hands and knees, Jesse finds the two bots huddled together under the desk.

“Hey,” he says, reaching out to poke them. “You guys get tired of following me around?”

The bots don't move - they don't even beep. Jesse blinks. He wiggles further under the desk.

“Guys?” he asks. He tries to move them around and finally notices that both bots are dark. “Oh no.”

“What oh no?” Gabe's voice floats to him as the door to his slides open. Jesse hits his head on the underside of the desk and winces. He wiggles back out from under the desk, trying not to look too sad.

“I think they ran outta juice,” he says. The corner of Gabe’s mouth twitches up.

“They strayed too far from their charging stations,” Gabe says, eminently reasonable. “We should probably get them back.”

“Yeah,” Jesse says, surprised at how reluctant he finds himself sounding. Gabe’s lip twitches up further.

“Let's get some lunch, first. I'm starving.”

Jesse picks at his lunch somewhat listlessly, half-listening to Gabe complain about the delegates at the reception last night.

“Jesse?” Gabe asks for what is certainly not the first time.

“What?”

“Did Jack say something?”

“What? No - I mean, he said I was charming or something,” Jesse says, waving his fork.

“We knew that already,” Gabe says. “He isn't going to take you from me and put you on politician duty, is he?”

“No - god, no,” Jesse says. “I'd die of boredom first.”

Gabe snorts. “You're not wrong.”

“I think he was mostly hungover, anyway.”

“Jack never could hold his liquor, even after SEP,” Gabe says, shaking his head. Jesse bobs his head a little. Gabe looks at him. “You really liked those cleaning bots, didn't you?”

Jesse feels the color rise to his face. “I mean - yeah. I dunno. It was almost like having a pet, you know?”

“They're not exactly meant to be kept like that, Jesse.”

“I know that,” Jesse says defensively.

“Sorry,” Gabe says, and he sounds sincere. Jesse lets his breath out.

“No, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to snap.”

“It's okay.”

They go back to eating quietly.

“I guess I never told you about the little garage bot we had back in Deadlock, huh?” Jesse says finally, setting his fork down. Gabe shakes his head. “It was a junker of a thing - all these bits mashed together. It cleaned up the garage and, I dunno. I always had a soft spot for it. I made sure it was taken care of and running properly and all that. I dunno what happened to it.”

Jesse picks his fork back up and pushes his food around his plate, very aware of Gabe's on him. Gabe reaches across the table and puts his hand on Jesse’s.

“I'm sure Jack won't notice a few cleaning bots out of rotation,” Gabe says. “Especially if the UN grants our budget request, which is looking likely after our charming performance yesterday.”

Jesse scrunches up his face.

“They're not really pets,” Jesse says. Gabe shrugs and goes back to his own food.

“No, they clean up after themselves,” Gabe says. “And I won't mind the regular cleaning myself.”

Jesse looks at Gabe skeptically. Gabe smiles around his fork.

“It's cute how they follow you around,” he says. Jesse kicks lightly at his foot under the table.

“Now you're making fun,” Jesse says. Gabe puts up his hands.

“No, really! You're like the pied piper of cleaning bots,” he says. Jesse huffs.

“You're really making fun now.”

It turns out that Gabe wasn't. When Jesse comes back to his quarters for the night, he finds the two little cleaning bots zooming happily around his room, a charging station in the corner for each of them. They're also newly decorated with Blackwatch insignias. Jesse loves them already.

He finds a tablet on the nightstand.

_Remember to let them charge._

__\-- G_ _

Jesse sets the tablet down and smiles.


End file.
